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He stole one last glance at the unwitting stranger he’d had to kill.
Concentrate.
Deal with the situation when it becomes a problem.
Sweat began to bead over his brow, and he let out a slow breath of air.
A low moan rolled on the slight breeze, and the hairs on the back of his neck raised. Again, he glanced over at the dead man. Unmoving. Silent. The guy hadn’t been breathing five seconds ago. And he’d been shot through the heart. Or damned close to. He was dead. Had to be.
Still, the Marksman’s skin prickled as the sound, low and guttural, whispered over the dry soil again, but the body didn’t move.
A ghost?
Someone else hiding in the shadowy landscape?
He swallowed back fear and stared at the cacti and scrub and rocks jutting out of the desert floor, but he saw no movement in the coming night. With renewed effort, he forced his gaze back to the drama unfolding in the valley below.
A bead of sweat slithered down from his hairline and along his jaw, but he ignored it. He couldn’t, wouldn’t break concentration.
The driver’s side door of the Mustang flew open, and the driver, a tall man carrying what looked like a briefcase, sprang from the interior. Leaving the door open, the interior light dim but steady, he strode toward the approaching female.
Here we go.
His finger was ready on the trigger.
Not yet.
Wait.
The exchange has to happen first. Remember. And do not hit the kid.
Steady . . . steady.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine . . .
CHAPTER 4
This is such bullshit!
Glock tucked into the back of his pants, Brett hauled his briefcase out of the car and wondered why he’d agreed to meet her like this. The middle of the desert at dusk. God, it was all so Didi. He should have just talked to his attorneys and let them handle whatever arrangements were necessary and legal.
But then, he wouldn’t have been able to get back at her, would he? No. This sounded like the best solution, a plan to get a little of his own back. He only hoped he could pull it off. And he’d end up with his son. If everything went as planned. He could lie with the best of them, when called to, and this situation certainly warranted evading, or even reinventing, the truth. But he never liked it. Always felt uncomfortable. Not so his father. Nor his brother. God, if Brett only had the balls and swagger of his older sibling, the ability to lie easily and so convincingly through his teeth, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in this mess. Oliver Hedges Jr., who called himself OH2, was ruthless, even cruel when he needed to be. As the old man had been before his accident. The particular quality of sheer will to do whatever it took, and Brett lacked it. Nor had he ever cultivated his brother’s cutting-edge, take-charge, and “damn the consequences” persona.
It just wasn’t who he was.
Hence, his current untenable situation.
Caught in Didi Storm’s seductive trap.
His fingers clenched around the handle of his briefcase.
There might have been a slim chance Didi wouldn’t have seen through his fake identity when they’d first met. But no, she’d apparently known who he was, and their whole meeting, which he’d thought had been his idea, was really hers.
But what was done was done.
He just had to fix it.
And he would.
